This story is part of the October 11 edition of Good Weekend. See all 14 stories .

“Come on baby, I need you to trust me. Follow me into the pain cave. I know you can do it. We’ll only be there for three minutes, and I’ll be with you all the way.”

Internally, I am shuddering with horror, but I engage my core (who knew a 48-year-old still had one?) and remind myself that, far from being forced here at gunpoint, I have in fact signed up to have this high-on-life fitness freak whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Worse still, I am paying for the privilege of hearing them.

Like every terrible thing that ever happens to me, this horrid state of affairs is my husband’s fault. Without him there would be no children. Without children there would be no Book Week. Without Book Week, there would

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